Hush Now, Don't You Cry
by isawrightless
Summary: Altair tries to calm his son after a nightmare.


Hunched over his desk, Altair observes the strange artifact and takes notes. Just more of the same. He wonders if he will ever understand the thing, discover its secrets without losing his mind. Perhaps it's just a waste of time, but Maria doesn't come to get him back to bed anymore, and Malik avoids the subject altogether.

He spends hours after hours studying, writing, drawing, planning. There are times when his wrists hurt too much, restricts any kind of movement, and Maria tends to him, rubs the sore spots, shakes her head and kisses his temple. 'What are you doing to yourself, my love?' those eyes of her ask in bright blue. He cowers at their intensity, he doesn't know. 'Will you ever?' No, Maria, no. It's not an obsession, he tries to convince himself. The Apple is dangerous, it could hurt their sons.

Excuses.

A candle burns, moonlight takes its place over the room, he rubs his left hand with his right one, cold skin, rubs a bit more, circulation returns, ring finger itches, back aches. He's too young to be this old.

Still, he doesn't miss the pitter-pat of little feet tapping against the ground. A knowing smile on his face, he looks up from his desk and finds Darim standing in the corner, hugging a small, old blanket. Malik has pointed out once that the blanket looks more like a rag with its tiny holes all over the fabric, and Maria has tried to trade it for a new one, but the boy refuses to throw the blanket away.

He stares at his son for a moment. How big he's getting, once four months now four years old. Time flies, and he wishes Sef to stay two years old forever. He can't have both of his sons growing up so fast at the same time! Soon they'll be old enough to make their own decisions, have their own family and they're his boys and he's being selfish, he knows, but the sick realization that his obsession (it's _not _an obsession) with the Apple has robed him more time than he previously thought is making his heart beat faster in a rhythm originated by fear.

The boy looks at him, Maria's eyes, he's ashamed. Altair holds out his hand, flattens his palm, and the boy looks unsure for a moment before running towards his father, almost tripping over his own foot. Altair takes the small hand in his, lifts the boy and settles him on his right knee.

It doesn't take more than two seconds before Darim throws his arms around his father's neck, buying his face on his chest. Altair holds him closer, his right arm around the boy's small frame so he won't fall, left hand on top of his head in a soothing gesture. He waits, Darim shivers, he brings his hand down to cover him with the overused blanket, a sniff, he waits some more, rocking his body back and forth.

Something's wrong, that much is obvious. Darim thinks of himself as a young man instead of the child he actually is. He makes promises and looks after his brother and says he can handle things for he's no longer a baby. To have him break that façade is alarming, leaves Altair apprehensive, but he knows he can't force the words out of Darim's mouth for that will only make the situation worse.

Finally, when Darim backs away enough for Altair to look at his face, the Grand Master's heart breaks at seeing his son's face stained with tears, eyes swollen. He wipes them away, offers a reassuring smile.

"Will you tell me what is wrong?" Altair tries, but the little boy remains silent. He risks his second chance; "are your mother and brother all right?"

Darim nods.

Altair sighs.

"Then what happened, son?"

Darim bites his lip, playing with his father's robes, twisting the fabric in his hand. He takes a deep breath, disappointment all over his face. "I had a bad dream."

There's relief in Altair's eyes as well as frustration. While it's not something tragic, Altair has been haunted by bad dreams many times before to know that no one can save you from them. They happen, sometimes they disappear, but it's not forever, and there are no real weapons to fight them. He understands what his son's feeling and it tears him apart.

Constant need to protect. Is that what all fathers go through? Did his own father ever feel this way about him?

"They took you away," Darim adds, and meets his father's gaze at last.

Altair decides not to ask anything else. He doesn't need to. "I'm not going anywhere."

Darim knits his eyebrows together, face making way for a harmless frown, and it's a little something he picked up from Malik. Altair can tell by the way his lips curve down a bit.

"You promise?"

Altair smiles, teeth bared. "I promise."

"You promised! Can't go back now!"

"When do I ever go back on my promises?" the boy ponders on that for a minute before smiling up to him. "A kiss?"

Darim nods, shame no longer a problem, he's back to being a child, and he feels a small kiss on his cheek. Then he shakes his head, says, "no! I want one like mother's!"

Altair smirks. "Oh? I thought you were too old for that."

"But I'm not!"

"All right."

And then Altair is nuzzling his son's nose against his own and Darim's eyes are closed but he laughs when it's over and Altair laughs, too.

"Can I stay here with you?" Darim asks, giving him a look that has Maria all over it.

"Your mother would kill me."

"She doesn't need to know! Please? I…I'm scared."

Oh, that's not fair. What is it with those big, teary eyes?

Altair sighs.

"You and your brother will be the death of me."

But Darim barely pays attention as he rests his head on his father's chest, watching as he scribbles something in a piece of paper, falling asleep to the smell of burned wax and ink.


End file.
